


Past and Pending

by zeldasayre



Category: IT (2017), IT (2019), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Middle School, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Autumn, M/M, Modern AU, apple picking and falling leaves and pumpkins etc, fall - Freeform, past and present in one story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-21 12:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20693549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldasayre/pseuds/zeldasayre
Summary: PendingAs fall arrives, Eddie spends his time in class or the bookstore, mostly reading, hiding away. Then someone strangely familiar comes into the store.PastRichie has one more year before high school, and he fully intends to use it getting into as much trouble as humanly possible. But no trouble's worse than the growing feelings he's finding it harder to ignore.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is kind of an experimental fic for me, so please bear with me. I hope you enjoy !
> 
> I know this chapter is super short, but it didn't seem to make sense to continue it before introducing Richie's narrative-- I'm figuring out the pacing of the POV shifts as I go-- as I said, I hope you'll bear with me :)

Eddie didn’t look up when the door chimed. It’d been busier in the bookstore this past couple of weeks than it had been all summer. Kids— both college-age, like himself, and younger students— were back in school, and required reading books were flying off the shelves. He’d already had to re-stock _Catcher in the Rye_ more than once.

Eddie ignored the shuffling sounds of several customers’ feet and the quiet tone of their voices as they slipped between shelves. People always seemed to think bookstores followed the same codes of conduct as libraries. No one had told him as much, when he’d got this job, but it did make some sense. People were trying to read here, too, after all, if only in short bursts. And there were a couple of armchairs toward the back where people sometimes parked with their lap top and takeaway coffees from next door. He sighed and flipped a page in his own book. He desperately wanted to go next door just then. Just the thought had him yawning.

“Shut up,” someone whispered, none-too-quietly, and Eddie glanced up at the sound. He saw the shoulder and the left arm of someone wearing a maroon sweater; the rest of them barred from view by a bookcase. Eddie was wearing a sweater, too, a dark green one that used to be soft, but now was scratchy enough that he had to wear a long-sleeved shirt underneath— but he did, because it was his favorite. Everyone who came in here in the last few days had been wearing sweaters or jackets— not coats, not quite yet, and no scarves yet either. Eddie watched the maroon sleeve disappear from view.

He looked back at his book, blindly staring at the words. It was his professor’s own novel. He really hated when professors did that.

Someone cleared their throat in front of him. He looked up, startled, and blinked at the person looking down at him. It was the maroon sweater— they seemed to be a he, though he didn’t want to assume, and they were tall, dark-haired, and wore glasses, through which they were staring at Eddie with a strange look of expectation, like more than a moment had passed since they’d been standing there.

“Sorry,” Eddie said, shutting his book and sitting up, grabbing at the small stack of books on the counter before him. “Did you find everything all right?”

“Sure did.”

“Great.” Eddie slipped a bookmark in between one of the books’ pages and accepted the guy’s crumpled wad of cash, cringing inwardly— he hated touching money— and flattening it out by the register. “Do you want a bag?”

“I’m good.”

Eddie looked up again. Something in the guy’s voice made him. He met his eyes again, and the guy pushed up his glasses, and seemed to lean in just slightly, as if to assist Eddie in some way, in figuring out what he wanted from him. 

Eddie cleared his throat and got the guy’s change, and a paper bag for his books. Two more and he would have gotten a cloth tote bag with the name of the store printed on the side. Sad day for this guy, for sure.

“Thank you,” the guy said, but he didn’t lean away.

“Dick,” Eddie and the guy turned at the sound of the voice. A blonde girl stood by the door, holding out a waiting hand. “Come on.”

“Right,” the guy— presumably Dick, unfortunately for him— “coming.”

The blonde pulled him away, and just behind them, a chubby guy, with his hands tucked into his pockets, followed, looking over his shoulder at Eddie at the last moment and grinning like there was some joke Eddie’d missed. Eddie watched them go, confused, and didn’t look down at his book again until the bell over the door had stopped echoing with the chime of their leaving.


	2. Chapter 2

Richie would never tell anyone, but he actually liked when school started again. Summers dragged like too-long movies, ’til the fun of it was lost and he just wanted to get out of there. Not to mention _this_ summer Beverly and Eddie, his two best friends, had both been away from home, at some relative’s lake house and some dumb camp. Richie’d ridden his bike in circles for basically weeks on end and he’d watched every movie ever made, like, eight gajillion times, ’til he basically never wanted to watch a movie again. He wasn’t going to tell anyone, but he was happy to be back in school. Even now, as Mrs. Bonneau, the school counselor, leveled him with a glare for yet another pink slip written up for ‘bad behavior.’

“I didn’t want to say anything, Bonneau, ‘cause I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I really think these teachers are trying to set us up. And I gotta say, I really don’t think it’s gonna work between us.”

“Mr. Tozier—”

“Listen, it’s not your looks. Don’t you worry about that. It’s the age thing. You get it. What would people think?”

“That’s enough, Mr. Tozier.” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling and spoke without moving them back down. “This is your third pink slip of the semester, and it has only been two weeks.”

“I’m going for the record.”

Bonneau glared at him again. “I am not your enemy, Mr. Tozier. Please do not think of me as such. You will be starting high school soon. It is _my_ job to try to prepare you for that reality. Your behavior will not be tolerated at Derry High, as you well know. If you fail at Derry High, your prospects— your future— will be at great risk. I know you don’t think this way, Mr. Tozier. You don’t see the big picture. But that will not stop it from catching up to you.”

Richie clapped his hands on his knees and stood up. “Wise words, Bonneau. You’re absolutely right. I’ve got a bright future ahead of me. Wouldn’t wanna risk that by getting into a good college.” He beamed at her and grabbed his bag from the floor. “Catch ya later, good lookin’.” He slammed the counselor’s door behind him and strode away.

Eddie was waiting for him outside. The last bell was just ringing, and Richie breathed a sigh of relief to be free at last. He was glad summer was over, but that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate the end of a school day as much as the next class screw-up.

“Are you suspended?” Eddie asked, stepping in stride with him, tugging on both his backpack straps. “Did she call your mom?_ Are you switching schools?_”

“Relax, Eds,” Richie grinned over at him and slung an arm around his shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere.”

*

Eddie was putting the kind of effort into his sketch of a Golgi body that Richie put into new recipes for substances to pour into Eddie’s backpack when he wasn’t looking.

“Kaspbrak,” he said, kicking his shoulder where he sat on the ground. “It’s not the Sistine Chapel. Quit it and play this with me.”

“No way,” Eddie said. “We have a no video games rule, remember? I refuse to suffer your abuse.”

“Aw, come on, I’m not so bad.”

“You hit me over the head with the controller!”

“It barely left a bump.”

Beverly laughed— Richie hadn’t heard her come in. He looked up as she crossed the room and fell onto the couch beside him. “What’s up, losers.”

“Tell Eddie to play with me.”

“Aw, yeah, Eddie, _play with him_,” Beverly said, effecting a grating baby voice and grinning devilishly. Richie smacked her and she laughed again, stretching her legs out across his lap. Richie stiffened and stared at the screen.

Eddie continued to ignore him. He really hated that. 

“We should go apple-picking,” Beverly said. Richie and Eddie groaned in tandem. “Come on,” Beverly said. “They’ll have cider donuts. And actual cider. It’ll be great. Don’t be boring.”

“We’re not _boring_, we’re just _boys_. _Boys_ don’t go _apple-picking_.”

“You’re such a moron, Trashmouth.”

“Orchards are full of bugs and rotting fruit and animal poop,” Eddie said. “And eating fruit straight off the tree? Without _washing it?_ Count me out.”

“You guys are so lame.”

Richie was grinning, now. “On second thought,” he said, “if it’ll torture Eddie, I’m in.”

Eddie squawked indignantly and Bev laughed and whooped. Eddie smacked Richie’s leg, which immediately kicked him, and then they were tumbling over each other, pulling and kicking and scratching as Eddie screeched and Richie howled with laughter. Eddie gave him one good final slap when they separated, and grabbed the second controller. Richie tucked his chin and smiled so wide it hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is still pretty short, I know-- these first two chapters are kind of meant to introduce you to the POVs/timelines, the chapters after these will be longer. hope u enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

Eddie glanced repeatedly at his clock throughout the hour. He didn’t want to set an alarm, because he hated the inevitable jolt alarms always gave him, but he also didn’t want to miss the shuttle because he was guilt-watching _American Horror Story_. He’d really thought he would escape the pull of it this year, but then they had to go and set it at a _summer camp_ in the _80s_. He was only so strong.

He closed his laptop when he looked at the time again and saw there were only twelve minutes left before the shuttle. He slid the laptop under his pillow and grabbed his book— a collection of short horror stories which he’d bought for the New American Gothic class he’d taken last semester. He eyed his threadbare Stone Roses shirt, which he’d stolen off a friend years ago, and grabbed the oversized, pumpkin-colored sweater he’d found at a hole-in-the-wall thrift store on Main. 

In the hall, he glimpsed the barely-open door of his neighbors, who he knew for a fact were the culprits of the missing common room couch. One of them saw him looking and closed the door with their foot.

He stood shivering at the shuttle stop, cursing himself for not grabbing another layer, and wishing he had time to grab tea from the cafeteria. He’d have time before his shift to stop at Witch’s Brew, the coffee shop next door to the bookstore, and their tea was better, anyway, but he couldn’t exactly pay for it with meals points. He sighed, tucking his book under his arm, and puffed warm air into his chilled hands.

The shuttle drove too fast, as always, preventing Eddie from leaning his head against the window unless he wanted to repeatedly hit the glass. He yawned as he stepped off, thanked the driver, and hurried toward Witch’s Brew.

Eddie breathed a sigh of relief at the rush of warm air which welcomed him into the cozy coffeeshop, which was decorated to look like a storybook witch’s cottage, and always smelled like someone had spilled a barrel of cinnamon. He stepped into line and perused the menu on the wall as if he was going to get anything other than his classic English Breakfast. Maybe he’d sprinkle some cinnamon on top. He wondered if that would be any good.

“Eddie.” He turned at the sound of his own name, and smiled at the sight of Bill and Stan— a couple he’d met the single time he’d convinced himself to go to the campus QSA— grinning at him. He wasn’t the most social person; Bill and Stan were two of the only people at school who he really considered friends. The simple fact of them being in a relationship was an added bonus— relationship people were much less likely to hound you to go out all the time. Plus when they hung out they were automatically in a group. Eddie liked it that way. He found one-on-one time with people he didn’t know well… difficult. Hence his less-than-ideal relationship with his roommate.

“Hey, guys,” Eddie said.

“On your way to work?” Bill asked.

Eddie nodded. By then it was his turn to order, so he spun away from them with an apologetic smile and made sure to tell the barista to leave extra room for milk.  
Bill and Stan followed him into the bookstore— The Black Cat, named subsequent to Witch’s Brew, apparently to keep with the theme. The street was beginning to become something of a novelty-tourist-trap, although it was really only around Halloween that it worked.

Stan hopped up on the front counter as Eddie slid behind it, and Bill perused the new releases. They didn’t seem to have anywhere to be, so the three of them talked as they sipped their drinks and Eddie did inventory. He was squatting by the sci-fi section when the bell over the door chimed, and he stood up, with a yawn, and walked back to the register.

Bill and Stan were sharing a curious look. Eddie arched a brow but didn’t ask, picking up his tea again instead, and taking a large pull, sighing with relief when he set the cup down. He flipped open his book and set the stapler down to hold it open. 

Bill and Stan talked quietly as Eddie read. After a few minutes, Stan cleared his throat, and Eddie glanced up.

“Oh,” he said. The maroon sweater guy was back. And staring at Eddie, right in front of him. Again. 

There was something oddly familiar about him— like a song Eddie recognized just a couple of notes from. Eddie gave him a polite smile and took up the book the guy— Dick, he remembered, and repressed a cringe at the thought— had set down. “Guess you didn’t find everything you were looking for last time, huh?” 

The guy grinned, just a small one, his eyes still searching Eddie’s face with that odd expectancy. He shook his head, finally. “Not quite.”

“Ask for help, next time,” Eddie said, accepting the guy’s cash again. He smiled at him. “I’d be happy to assist you.”

“Thanks,” Dick said. “I’ll do that.”

He paused another moment, the book and his receipt in hand, just looking at Eddie, before finally turning to go.

Bill let out a long, whistling breath, and Stan a little laugh, when the door had chimed behind Dick. Eddie frowned at them.

“What?”

“That hurt to watch,” Stan said.

“Truly.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That dude was working up the nerve to talk to you for _ages_, only for _that_ to be the result.”

“A Herculean effort and zilch to show for it.”

“He wasn’t even in here long,” Eddie said, his brows drawn close and low.

“You didn’t see the little dance he was doing, Eddie.”

“He started toward you and then backtracked at least ten times,” Bill agreed.

Eddie fish-mouthed, baffled. He hadn’t noticed any interest from the guy, romantic or otherwise, besides that weird _waiting_. Was it the first move he’d been waiting for? Eddie blushed and looked down at his book as Bill giggled.

“Shut up,” Eddie said, finally, when Stan started making lewd gestures and Bill laughed all the harder. He hid an embarrassed smile behind his book. “Don’t you two have places to be?”

“Not really.”

Bill laughed. “OK, we’ll get our of your hair. But next time, help the poor guy out, will ya?”

“Yeah,” Stan grinned, “he’s cute. We could double date.”

“Out,” Eddie said, hiding his red face more fully behind his book. “You’re banished.”

“That hurts.”

Eddie tried to focus on his book once they’d gone, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the unfortunately-named maroon sweater guy. His dark mop of unruly curls, his square brown glasses and gangly Gumby limbs. Familiar, like the new clothing store or restaurant that’s taken up the rental of what was formerly your favorite ice cream parlor or comic book shop. He thought again of the blonde girl who called out Dick’s name, and realized his friends must have been mistaken. More likely the guy was just nervous to ask for help finding something than that he was trying to flirt with Eddie. He was just a straight stranger— a good-looking one, sure, but that was it. Eddie shook himself out of his pointless reverie and focused on the murder on the pages before him with a sigh. His friends had imaginations as active as Joyce Carol Oates. That was all it was.


	4. Chapter 4

Eddie and Bev were already sitting in their usual lunch place, right around the stump in the grass by the cafeteria. Most people were eating inside already, staking their claim for when the weather really started to cool down and outdoor lunch became essentially impossible. But the losers club stayed outside as long as possible. The cafeteria had never treated them well.

“—Richie’s mom, marry Mr. Rogers, kill Mr. Anderson.” Eddie looked up at Richie, poorly pretending he hadn’t heard his approach. “Oh, hey Rich.”

Richie got Eddie in a headlock. “What are you doing with my mom, Eds? Huh? What?”

Eddie shook with laughter and indignant squeals, batting Richie away until he was finally released. He grinned at Richie’s unconvincing glare. “You’re late. Were you in Bonneau’s office again?”

“I really think she’s into me,” Richie said. “But no, not this time. Just had to take a leak.”

“Thanks for sharing with the class,” Beverly said. She’d opened her boxed milk on both sides, and she seemed to be struggling to drink from it without spilling all over her face. When she’d raised it to take a sip, Richie smacked it, sending it flying, milk going everywhere.

“Trashmouth!” Bev screamed as Eddie screeched and jumped away from them. “You _suck!_”

Richie beamed, shaking milk out of his hair like a wet dog. “Got milk?”

Beverly grabbed the empty box and threw it at him.

“I’m gonna be sticky all day now!” Eddie yelled. “Richie! I’m gonna be sticky and I’m gonna smell like sour milk!”

“Take a whore’s shower in the bathroom,” Richie said, grabbing one of Bev’s dinosaur nuggets. He leered at Eddie, wiggling his brows. “I can help, if you’re into that.”

Eddie blushed furiously and shoved him. “I hate you.”

“You don’t mean that, Eddie baby.”

“Shut up!”

“Come on, lover— let’s not fight. Think of the kids.”

“You owe me a milk,” Bev said. Richie got up on his knees and tugged down at the neck of his shirt. 

“Here,” he said, “suckle my teat.”

“Richie!” Eddie yelled, as Bev shoved him back. Richie laughed as he hit the ground, and grinned up at Eddie, towering over him. “You’re disgusting and a pervert and you made me _sticky!”_

“Watch me do it again,” Richie said, and grabbed at Eddie’s waist. 

When Eddie escaped his grasp, he dashed off to the bathroom, muttering all the way. Richie watched him go. 

“Idiot,” Bev said.

“What do you know.”

She was silent. Richie looked at her. She raised a brow. Richie looked away. He flopped back on the ground and groaned. “Middle school sucks.”

*

Richie’s house looked like Michael’s had thrown up on it. While he was at school, his mom had covered every available surface in kitschy fall decor. Richie eyed the fake leaves strewn about the counters and said, “Don’t we have enough of these outside?”

“That reminds me,” his mom said. “You need to go blow the leaves.”

“Why?” Richie blew a couple of fake leaves on the ground. “Why not just shovel ‘em in here?”

“Now, please, thank you, Richard.”

Richie rolled his eyes but dropped his backpack obediently and walked to the side door, and out to the garage.

He paused to look over various discarded projects his dad had tried to get him into over the years. The half-finished birdhouse, the upside down side table missing a leg, the baseball bat and hockey stick. He could practically hear his dad’s loud sighs and not-so-hushed mutters of, “Don’t understand where I went wrong.”

Grabbing the leaf blower, Richie hitched open the garage and pulled his beanie down lower over his ears.

Bev rode up just as he was about to turn the blower on. She was still wearing her favorite jean capris, despite the change in weather, and she parked her butt on her skateboard at the bottom of his driveway.

“Can I jump in the pile when you’re done?” she asked.

“No way. There’s not enough room for both of us.”

Richie’s mom threw open the front door, beaming and holding a plate of cookies which had seemingly appeared from thin air. “Beverly! So good to see you!” Like she didn’t see her all the time. Richie’s mom always acted like this when Bev came over alone. He wondered what she saw when she looked at Beverly’s cropped-short ginger curls and sweat-stained tank tops. Or more to the point, what she heard. Wedding bells, he figured.

Richie rolled his eyes and turned on the leaf blower, preventing further conversation. His mom waved and set the plate of cookies down on the stoop. When she’d closed the door behind her, he lurched forward and stuffed two cookies whole in his mouth.

Beverly laughed, the sound drowned out as Richie got to work, and took a couple herself before settling back on her board. She seemed content to sit there, staring out at the street as they ignored each other. She was his best friend— well, his other best friend— but lately, she made him nervous. Or maybe nervous wasn’t the word. Anxious.

He just wanted her to leave. 

It was his mom’s enthusiasm, partly. It was also the way Bev herself sometimes looked at him, like she was wondering, waiting for him to… to something. To something he didn’t want to, something he didn’t even want to think about.

When he’d done with the leaves, Richie dutifully leapt into the pile, bruising his side with the force of his landing and undoing all his work. Bev bent over laughing, and he grinned at her, even as he stood to right his wrong. His mom threw open the front door again. “Try that again and you’ll be using the rake next time.”

Richie shrugged. He didn’t mind. He liked the rake.

“Impossible,” his mother said, shaking her head as she closed the door.

Richie glanced at Beverly and back to the door. “Think they’ll send me back where they found me?”

“Any day now.”

*

It was a struggle to stay awake when teachers put on movies, especially when the weather was cooling down, and all the classrooms blasted their heat like they were in the arctic circle. Eddie kicked the back of Richie’s chair as he started to nod off. Richie grinned over his shoulder at him, and Eddie rolled his eyes.

Richie liked the movie well enough— a bunch of boarding school kids reading poetry and being obsessed with their teacher, because he was Robin Williams. Richie would be obsessed with his teacher, too, if he was Robin Williams. He leaned back in his seat and reached under to poke at Eddie’s leg with a pencil.

Eddie squeaked and kicked him again, ducking his head when the people around them looked his way. He must have been blushing furiously; Richie grinned wide at the thought. 

“I hate you,” Eddie whispered.

“Ooh, yeah, tell me more.” Eddie kicked him again.

Richie loved working Eddie up, making him splutter and blush and hit and kick and scratch at Richie like an angry cat. He even nicknamed him ‘Pussy’ for a while, until he learned that at a certain point teachers will consider corporal punishment over clearly-ineffective pink slips. 

There was something about Eddie’s headstrong assurance that he could take Richie, despite the height difference and the “asthma” and the crippling fear of getting in trouble, that lit Richie up like a Jack O’ Lantern. He didn’t know why it made him so happy, getting smacked and yelled at by his best friend, but he couldn’t stop himself from pushing Eddie’s buttons— like those dancing decorations you see at CVS with the ‘try me’ button that you really shouldn’t try. Everything, everyone else, bored him. Nothing could wake him up like Eddie. Eddie was the alarm clock to the slumber of Richie’s life.

He followed Eddie out of class. Eddie was already going off. “We can’t go to Rusty’s anymore, the cooks don’t wear gloves, and also, I heard they bribed the inspectors to give them a higher rating, which, I mean, obviously, because they’d already get a low rating for not wearing gloves— you know, I don’t think I even saw any ‘employees must wash hands’ signs in the bathroom— you know those signs, ‘employees must wash hands’? Well I didn’t see—”

Richie laughed and wrapped an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “Whatever you say, Eds.”

Eddie huffed and blushed like one of the little piggies. Richie was the wolf, of course. There to blow his house down. “I told you not to call me that, Rich.”

“So no more Rusty’s,” Richie said, ignoring him. “Where should we go, then?”

Eddie screwed up his face in thought. “I guess… the bagel shop is pretty clean.”

Richie laughed. “Do they even have seating there?”

“Yes, Richie,” Eddie rolled his eyes.

“What’s up?” Bev said, joining them at the end of the hallway.

“No more Rusty’s,” Richie said. “We’re bagel shop loyalists now.”

“Oh?” Bev hitched up her backpack and fell into step beside them. “Is there a turf war I missed?”

“No—” Eddie started.

“Yes,” Richie interrupted. “We’re winning.”

“We’re winning by relocating? Being kicked out of our digs is winning?”

“You just don’t understand warfare, Beverly. It’s not a woman’s game.”

“That’s not what your mom said last night,” Eddie cut in. Beverly cracked up, and Richie tried not to grin.

“That doesn’t even make sense, Eds.”

“Don’t _call_ me that!” But Eddie was beaming like a proud little duck. Richie ducked his head. He couldn’t even look at Eddie like that. It was like staring at the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi [on tumblr](http://shesarealphony.tumblr.com) :)
> 
> [fic post](http://shesarealphony.tumblr.com/post/187810440805/past-and-pending-by-zeldasayre-me-pending-as)


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